


No Place Like Home

by Morgan Briarwood (morgan32)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-30
Updated: 2010-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:15:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan%20Briarwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter what, the Roadhouse will always be home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Place Like Home

It was strange to find the Roadhouse so quiet.

Jo's boots sounded loud on the floorboards as she crossed the saloon. She had been away for too long. It felt strange to be back, like she didn't belong here.

It felt a little like it had when she quit college. Though she'd been so very glad to be back at the Roadhouse then, she'd still felt like a stranger at first. But she'd felt even more out of place at college. She was the weird girl who hoarded salt and kept a collection of knives under her bed. And, occasionally, under her pillow. She was the one who overreacted to Halloween pranks - well, what was she supposed to do when attacked? - and who got caught breaking into the chapel. (The getting caught part sucked.)

Outside of classes, college life seemed to be all about getting laid, but Jo had spent her early teens dancing out of reach of grabby hands and her later teens fighting back with acerbic comments, and when necessary with fists, knives or shotguns. The idea that she should _enjoy_ being pursued by horny guys was just weird.

But she did try. Things between Jo and college boys tended to break down at the getting-to-know-you stage. The boys always had stories of football victories or their first car or the fun of getting drunk. Jo would smile and pretend to be impressed while thinking of the time she faced down a rawhide and realising her companion would have pissed his pants and fled at the sight of it. God help her, she found herself regretting turning down some of the hunters at the Roadhouse. At least she could respect those guys.

As for college itself, she had trouble seeing the point. She just couldn't get excited about most of this stuff. History was boring. Literature was worse. She took a Latin class and found her command of the language was better than the TA's. She tried some computer classes, figuring at least she'd learn skills that might be useful later, but it was mostly technical stuff. Useful, but not fun.

Still, she stuck it out, conscious that she wouldn't get a second chance at this and optimistic that it would get better. It was after that incident in criminology class that Jo finally gave up, packed her things and headed back to the Roadhouse. She took the tongue-lashing from her mom because she knew once Ellen had her say, she'd get a hug and a welcome. And that night she got drunk with Ash, because she knew Ash would get it, even if Ellen didn't. He hadn't lasted much longer at college than she did.

In the saloon the wall above the phone was filled with postcards. Some were old and yellow, curling at the edges. Others were new. Many of them showed some piece of Americana: Lady Liberty, Yankee Stadium, Pensylvania Avenue, the Garden of the Gods, Mount Rushmore. Others showed less well-known scenes: rural barns, beaches, lakes and rivers. Others were pictures of cars, trees, even dolls. Each of the postcards had either a single word or a name written on the image: the name of the creature or spirit a hunter had killed in the location it represented. Jo found a postcard from Philadelphia: the picture was a woodcut of Moyamensing Prison with _H H Holmes_ written in her own, defiant handwriting. She reached up to touch the postcard, remembering. She'd sent others, too, but she didn't look any further.

Jo's bedroom didn't feel like hers any more, she had been so long away. The old pictures tacked to her wall felt like remnants of childhood. The shotgun under her bed felt like an old friend and she took a moment to crack it open, check the load and replace it before she wandered out of the room again.

The door to Ash's room stood open, which was unusual. She'd helped him make the sign pinned to the door: plain wood she'd torn from the fence out back and sanded down with _Dr Badass is_ painted on it by Ash. Below that hung a smaller, double sided piece of wood, like a store's open-closed sign, with _in_ on one side and _out_ on the other. Currently the sign declared "Dr Badass" out, but Jo knocked lightly on the open door anyway. No answer came from within.

Jo stepped over the threshold into Ash's sanctum. She felt the thrill of a child breaking the rules: Ash was _very_ territorial about his room. He didn't let people in. He usually tried to stop anyone even seeing in through the door, so it was odd that he'd left the door open. But that was why she couldn't resist the temptation to take a peek.

The room didn't reflect Ash's personality at all. There was a television with a VCR and what looked like a collection of action movies, though it would be like Ash to have porn in those cases. The bed itself was neatly made with a pale grey quilt and Ash's laptop - one of them - open near the pillow. Jo saw no sign of salt or guns or knives, though she knew Ash owned a great deal of all three. Nor could she see the collection of empty beer bottles she would have expected Ash to accumulate. The only part of the room that seemed truly Ash-like was the bookshelf: stuffed with CDs and pieces of electronic equipment: computer chips and circuit boards, wires and plugs and other things Jo didn't recognise. It was almost as if someone else lived here...though now she thought of it, that _did_ perfectly reflect Ash. His surface personality was nothing like the man he really was underneath.

"Hey, Little Jo-jo. Good to have you home."

She jumped at the familiar voice and turned to face him. She could feel the guilty heat rising into her cheeks.

Ash was lounging against the door jam, smiling gently.

Impulsively, Jo flung her arms around his neck and kissed him on his lips. At least it kept him from seeing her blush.

Ash caught her around her waist and held her close to his body, but he drew his face away from hers, laughing. "I missed you, too, Kitten."

She kept her arms around him because he was still holding her. It felt good. After the lonely months on the road, it felt _really_ good to have a man's body so close. Ash always flirted with her when he wasn't being an asshole, but Jo mostly took it as a joke; she didn't really think of him as a potential lover. As a partner, yes, but the sex thing always seemed off-limits. But with his body so close to hers, she thought of him that way now.

Jo leaned back a little, letting his stong arms take her weight as she pressed against him. "I sure hope that's not a gun in your pocket," she teased.

Surprise flashed across his face before he covered it with his trademarked crooked grin. "Babe, last time I tried to kiss you, I lost more than my Zepplin albums. What gives?"

"I missed home," Jo declared. She kissed him again, parting her lips a little. Then she grinned. "I'm just so happy to see you." Jo pulled away from him and backed away until she felt the bed behind her knees. She pulled her shirt out of her jeans. Slowly, beginning at the bottom, she undid the shirt's buttons, one by one. She didn't look up but she could feel Ash's eyes on her, burning into her. She heard his breath hitch when she undid the last button, the one between her breasts. She shrugged off the shirt, letting it fall from her shoulders.

Ash took a step toward her. "Well, look at you. Little Jo all growed up."

"Growed up enough to know what I'm doing," she answered. She reached back to unhook her bra.

Ash locked the door. He was on her in two strides, his hands covering hers, his fingers deftly opening her clasp. Slowly, he drew the straps down from her shoulders. "Purr for me, Kitten," he said, his voice suddenly husky.

_That_ was the tone she needed to hear: the proof that he wanted her. Jo turned her face upward for another kiss and felt for his belt. It was a worn, old leather belt and the buckle was stiff. Jo worked it free while Ash looked down into her eyes. He didn't kiss her. Ash licked his lips, his expression eager while she worked at his belt. Ash wanted her. He really wanted her and that made Jo feel powerful. It made her want him more. The belt came undone and she quickly popped the buttons of his pants. She had done Ash's laundry often enough to know he didn't wear underpants or boxers. She she slipped her hand inside his pants and thrilled to hear his groan as her fingers curled around the hard, hot length of his dick.

Ash grasped her wrist - not roughly - and pulled her hand away from him. Then he pushed her back onto his bed. Jo went willingly. Ash pulled her bra down, exposing her breasts and cupped one of her breasts in his hand, his thumb brushing her nipple. Jo arched upward, encouraging his touch. The rough skin of his thumb teased her nipple hard and she moaned softly. She hoped he wasn't going to take this slow. She wanted to be fucked, damn it. She wanted his fingers to bruise her, wanted his teeth to mark her, wanted him to fuck her so hard she'd feel it for hours. But there was only the brush of his thumb on her skin, the warmth of his hand cupping her.

"What are you waitin' for?" Jo demanded impatiently. "Don't you know what to do with a girl once you've got her in bed?"

He rolled his eyes, not at all offended. "Ooh, sweetness, you're going to pay for that."

"I sure hope so!" she sassed right back.

If what followed was Ash's notion of making her pay, Jo was going to have to insult him more often.

***

Jo sighed contentedly, sitting up in the bed. She looked down at Ash, who lay on his back, his hands clasped behind his head. He looked very smug...and she figured he deserved the moment.

"I guess," she said, "this really is Heaven."

Ash smiled. "Well, it sure ain't the other place."

Her smile faded a little. "No." She brushed the tangles from her hair with her fingers. "I'm glad you found me."

He stroked her bare thigh with his fingertips. "Me too. I would have looked for you sooner but..." his voice trailed off and he raised his eyes to her.

She wondered what he wasn't saying, but she didn't ask. "I wish I could stay."

For the second time, she saw surprise flash across his face. "Stay as long as you like. If you want." He sounded indifferent, but that was just Ash. She could tell he liked the idea.

She hadn't expected that. "I'd love that! The Roadhouse is home and you..." The possibilities suddenly seemed wonderful. "Can we find others?" she asked breathlessly. "My mom and dad?"

"Might take a while," he answered. "But we can look." He grinned at her. "Put on your ruby slippers, Dorothy, and I'll show you the way to the Yellow Brick Road."

A new kind of excitement began to build in her. If she was Dorothy, Ash probably figured he was the Wizard. Jo smiled. "Sure thing, Toto. There's no place like home."

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for Geonn Cannon, who gave me the prompt "Jo Harvelle, Americana". I wrote the original draft by just writing whatever came to mind, with no structure or plot planned out. Not until the end did I realise I'd been writing my characters in Heaven. With that clear in my mind I had to completely re-write it and in the process I cut out most of the sex because I felt that was taking something away from the story. I'm still not certain it works as I intended, but it's the best I can make it. Concrit is very welcome.


End file.
